


1:53 a.m.

by perennials



Category: Gintama
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 22:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5107484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gintoki is cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1:53 a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> (hi i'm here from a few months in the future to strongly advise you to not read this. this is an embarrassing thing. please do not read it. i have eight works posted under this account- feel free to check those out and pretend this never existed. that is all. have a good one)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own neither Gintama nor it's characters. 
> 
> Hello! This is the first piece of fanfiction I've written in my entire life, and so I apologize if the characters appear OOC or the writing seems a little stilted and/or awkward. I planned on never getting into writing fanfiction, but Gintama has ruined me and so this trash fic happened! Originally just wanted to write about cuddling and stuff, but I went off and ended it on a weird, weird note, which forced me to go back and make edits to make the tiny bit of angst more prominent.  
> Well then, err, enjoy, I guess.

Katsura slipped soundlessly into the Yorozuya home and latched the sliding door shut. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly at the unguarded entryway- they never remembered to lock the door unless Shinpachi was staying over- he'd have to remind them in the morning to do so yet again. Pausing briefly to find his bearings in the dimly-lit hallway, he tip-toed into the living room and gently placed the plastic bag he’d brought on the coffee table. Leader and Shinpachi would, hopefully, stop pestering him over his "unpaid debts" when they found it the next day.

Satisfied, he was just about to exit the sleepy household when the rustling of bedsheets caught his attention. Turning towards the noise, Katsura's gaze was drawn to the room in the far corner and the sliver of silver flashing between its half-shut doors.

Without realizing it, he was heading in that direction, slinking past a peacefully dozing Sadaharu and Leader's makeshift closet-bed. He made his way in with feather-light footsteps and settled down, cross-legged, beside the sleeping samurai.

Gintoki was curled up under a mountain of blankets, head tucked so deep inside the cocoon that only his silver hair could be seen haphazardly sticking out. He was whimpering softly in his sleep, blankets rising and falling with every uneven breath.

"A nightmare perhaps?" He wondered to himself.

Katsura hesitated for a second before finally extending a hand and resting it in Gintoki's hair, marveling quietly at its smooth, pleasant texture. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd carded his fingers through his hair, but he still found himself surprised, time and again, at how incredibly soft it was. Katsura mused that he would do this more often, when they were both awake; if only Gintoki didn't take every chance he had to tease him about his inexplicable fascination with his hair. "It's just hair," he'd drawl as he carelessly brushed Katsura's hand away.

Still, Katsura continued with his gentle caresses (hoping that they would somehow calm the distressed samurai), nestling himself into the tranquil silence of the household and gradually grew accustomed to the muted radiance of his surroundings. The moon hung lethargically in a sky so dark, its rich royal blue hue appeared to be tinged around the edges with black, the pearly orb's steel-cut outline softened by the wispy gray clouds drifting about in its midst like tufts of cotton candy. Dusty moonlight cast an ethereal glow upon the interior of the house, bathing everything in effervescent silvers and blues, and the moonbeams that had fallen upon Gintoki's hair rendered it almost luminescent in nature.

As Katsura made to leave the room, Gintoki suddenly tossed in his sleep and growled something unintelligible. Pale fingers shot out and yanked the edge of the blanket down, and a pair of wine-red eyes lidded at half-mast peeked out from below ruffled, curly hair and turned to him.

For a split second, Katsura thought he saw a trace of panic dancing in the depths of those crimson irises, but when he blinked again it had vanished, and what remained was that familiar, bored stare that echoed vaguely-detached interest.

"Zura," he stated matter-of-factly, as though the appearance of an old friend in the dead of the night was a regular occurrence.

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura," the long-haired man responded automatically.

"What are you doing here?"

"When are you going to get my name right?"

"I didn't know you were the sort to sneak into people's houses in the dead of the night and watch grown men sleep,” he deadpanned, ignoring Katsura’s protests.

"Because I’m not! No one’s interested in watching an idiot like you drool all over his pillow." Katsura was beginning to regret having felt any semblance of sympathy or worry for him- he was obviously fine.

There was a stretch of uneasy silence.

Gintoki shifted under the blankets and sighed. "Whaddya want?"

Katsura huffed irritably. "Nothing, I was just dropping by to leave some stuff for the kids. I'll be going now."

"Wait-" without warning, Gintoki lifted one edge of his blanket fortress, and from the ominous darkness within a hand snaked out, grabbing Katsura by the wrist and dragging him inside.

"O-oi!" Katsura let out a yelp and tried to pry off Gintoki’s hand, but the silver-haired man didn't relinquish his hold on the struggling terrorist, and instead wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

Katsura's cheeks were aflame, and he could feel the blush creeping to his ears. Squirming desperately in his grasp, he only hoped that Gintoki hadn't noticed how he'd succeeded in drawing a reaction out of his usually composed self.

"Gintoki! Let me go!" He hissed angrily, trying his best to ignore how inexplicably cozy it was inside, with the permy idiot's chest pressed to his back and both his arms now locked securely around his waist. He was mad at how he'd been drawn, against his will, into someone else's blanket fort at two in the morning, the matter of the criminal offender's identity aside, but for some reason he couldn't quite bring himself to hate how things had turned out, either.

"Don't wanna," Gintoki whined.

"Ugh, just-" Katsura's exasperated comeback was cut off when Gintoki nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck, eliciting a startled gasp from the indignant, smaller man.

"You make for a very nice body heater." Katsura could feel him smiling against the curve of his neck, velvety lips ghosting the delicate skin. Gintoki paused, then added, "a very cute one, too." He chuckled, and his warm breath tickled, making Katsura's hair stand on end.

"Shut up!" The brown-eyed man scowled, but Gintoki had already resolved to using him as a bolster, molding himself against Katsura's tense body and resting his head against his shoulder. Despite the lazy, offhand manner in which he'd greeted him, he could feel Gintoki's hummingbird heartbeats, quick and irregular through his chest, and his calloused hands were icy cold.

His resolve having weakened, Katsura relented to stay for a few minutes and allowed himself to relax in the tenebrosity of Gintoki's bed.

"Okay, can I go now?" Katsura whispered a few minutes later, fearing for a split second that the other might have inadvertently drifted off to sleep.

"Nnn," he shook his head, cheek lightly grazing the tender skin on Katsura's neck. "Stay."

"Come on, you permy idiot."

"You're warm."

"I'm also dirty. And gross," he snapped, then continued thoughtfully, "haven't showered, either."

"That's okay," Gintoki murmured into his ear, tightening his hold on the smaller man. "Ple—ase?"

"Leader's going to raise hell if she wakes up in the morning and finds you with someone else in bed. Or have a field day. Either way, she's definitely going to get the wrong idea," Katsura griped.

"Gin-san's like a rabbit, Zura. If you leave him alone he'll wander off by himself and die." Gintoki spoke in a light-hearted, joking manner, but Katsura sensed an underlying note of desperation, the slightest, barely detectable hint of insufferable solidarity, and he realized that maybe- just this once- the typically overly affectionate sugar addict hadn't been looking for anything more than a friend to spend the night with.

"Fine," he mumbled.

He'd stay, for the raw edge to the silver haired samurai's voice, for the blood-red skyline that had flashed through his eyes for the brief second theirs had met, and for the way he had clung to Katsura in that short span of time, as though the carefully concealed, scared, scarred boy behind those burning red eyes had expected him to slip out of his grasp at any moment and vanish into the shadows.

He'd stay. He'd stay. For him.   



End file.
